


feel it in your bones

by onefootonego (startingXI)



Series: ex animo [3]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, allusion to past sexual violence and violence of other kinds, vaguely historical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:55:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingXI/pseuds/onefootonego
Summary: maggie has never seen a doctor dressed like her before. normally it’s formal suits that express their rank in society, the importance of their place and their job. alex, however, walks in after lucy wearing black trousers and a white shirt that is undoubtedly for men, if maggie’s judgement of the cut is anything to go by. the sleeves are rolled up above her elbows and there’s the ink of a tattoo spiralling around her left forearm that catches maggies attention.  alex stops short of where lucy is standing, keeping the full length of herself within maggie’s view.there’s a moment of silence and then it is alex who speaks first.“hi.” she says, “i’m alex.”





	feel it in your bones

**Author's Note:**

> heed the warnings please.

for the second time, tonight maggie finds herself utterly alone. the world is not as silent as she thinks, even in what must be the dead of night. the grand manor house around her has a life breath of its own and the unfamiliar settling of it keeps maggie on edge. as well, she is kept awake by the racing of her own mind. fingertips trace along the edges of bruises and cuts visible in the moonlight, free as they are of grim and grit and blood. 

maggie stands, arms wrapped around herself, surveying the room around her. 

there is no questioning that it is grand, but there is a variant opulence to the art adorning the wall. the biggest and grandest piece, hanging the wall opposite the bed, is still military in theme. as well though, there are works that maggie is sure would be more recognisable if art was something she had any education in, or exposure too. standing as she is, her toes curl into the soft fur of a rug beneath her toes and a fire burns slowly in the hearth. to maggies right there is a bed, with more pillows and blankets left for her than she has borne witness to in quite some time. in the recent past little had been left for her beyond a threadbare sheet and whatever scraps of clothing had not found themselves ruined. to be faced with such luxury is overwhelming, and maggie finds herself frozen, unsure of how to proceed. 

unfurling her arms from her hips, maggie takes a series of hesitant steps towards the bed. she half expects at any moment for lucy or someone else to come barging in and start demanding things of her. except maggie makes it to the bedside and the house remains as asleep as it has been. the door remains shut and maggie’s breathing begins to slow. reaching out with a hand, her fingers brush the fabric of the first duvet and she is caught by how soft it is. her fingers curl into it, tugging it towards her slowly, watching it warp and shift on the bed. 

wrapping it around her wrist, maggie lets her gaze drift back to the heart and the fire and the fur rug spread there. she looks back to the bed, yet she feels uncertain with its lavishness. it’s not that maggie doesn’t want to climb onto it and slip between the sheets, losing herself to the darkness. it is, instead, that maggie both wants and does not want this night to end. surely this must be some impossible dream. if she sleeps maggie is sure that she will awaken in a cell, with her fate in the hands of men who leer and grab at her. the only feasible option available, to ensure that such things do not happen, is not to sleep. instead, with the thick blanket trailing after her, maggie makes her way back to the hearth and its warmth. she spies a chair, thick-cushioned and well worn. the temptation to sink down into it is real, for the curative powers of the bath seem to be fading and maggie is left with aches and pains and all such things she tries to ignore because she has no desire to see the doctor. 

slipping into the comfort of the chair has maggie’s eyes fluttering shut nearly at once. she is bone-tired and even forcing her eyes open once again serves to nearly be too much for her. with slow movements, maggie wraps the blanket around her, immediately comforted by its weight and its warmth. that, combined with the low burn of embers and the relative silence of a sleeping house, serve to lull maggie straight towards sleep. she is not sure if it is minutes or hours after she sinks into the chair that she falls asleep, all maggie knows is that she succumbs to the lure, utterly spent.

\--

maggie wakes with a violent start. the room around her takes long seconds to come into focus, but even then maggie is left struggling to understand exactly she is. the room around her lavish and unfamiliar. not to mention seemingly empty and the bed appears mostly untouched – certainly, no one slept in it. curtains hang, barely parted over two windows along one wall and shafts of sunlight stream into the room. the ashy remnants of a fire linger in the hearth to maggie’s left and looking down, she sees a vaguely familiar patterned blanket wrapped around her. she casts her mind back, trying to understand the culmination of events prior to this that brought her, 

here. 

wherever here is. 

before understanding comes, however, 

there is a knock on the door. 

maggie stiffens, her fingers curl into her pants, gripping at the fabric there. her mouth feels suddenly dry. she feels woefully small and exposed in this vast expanse of a room. she has no voice with which to call out, yet still, the door does not swing open. instead, there is another set of knocks. they are not aggressive, they do not seem demanding. if anything, maggie clocks them as hesitant, unsure. the tentative nature of them leaves her baffled. all she can think to do is stay still, stay small and submissive and – 

the doorknob twists, maggie’s breath catches in her chest and fear paralyses her. she watches as the door swings open a foot, maybe two and 

“you’re awake.” comes a soft voice, and it is the woman’s face, lucy’s face, that brings a night of memories slamming back into maggie. 

murder and blood and dirt, and soft touches and the promise of safety. the previous days come slamming back into maggie all at once. she lets out a soft gasp, a hiccup that alarms lucy as she steps into the room, keeping the door wide open behind her. 

“maggie,” lucy speaks gently, moving only far enough into the room that she is no longer in the hall, but venturing no closer to a very obviously startled maggie “maggie, do you know where you are?” she asks, aware that such questions have in the past had a grounding effect on her, and still often do when the moment comes where her head is taken elsewhere. 

it is not a question maggie knows how to answer with any great detail, but one-word escapes in her next exhalation “safe.” she forces out, for that is what her instinct supplies for her. 

she is safe. 

“yeah,” lucy nods, a soft exhalation punctuating her sentence “you’re safe.” 

maggie swallows hard and takes long seconds to drag her head up and look at lucy “what time is it?” she asks carefully, taking note that lucy is dressed in riding attire. 

she notices there’s a splash of mud along the outside of her otherwise polished boots, and there’s pink tinge to her cheeks, a windswept ruffle to her hair. these things combined with the sun streaming in through the barely parted curtains leaves maggie wondering what time it is. taking stock of her body gives her few answers. in mornings past maggie can tell how deprived of sleep she’s been by the ache sitting deep her bones. of course, those are after nights spent curled, more often than not, on a stone floor or in a draughty barn. her body has long since been unfamiliar with creature comforts of plush chairs positioned by the embers of dying fires. nor is she so used to warmth trapped by a duvet, the same duvet she has curled around herself now. yet despite a considerable upgrade in circumstance, her body still feels, 

off.

there is a pulsating throb sitting in her side that worsens with each breath she attempts to take. her head feels as if it’s wrapped in cotton wool, and there are countless far more indescribable aches and pains pinpointing her body. her eyes flutter closed, even as she hears lucy’s voice. it becomes harder now for her to concentrate on what lucy is saying, something about it being late in the afternoon. maybe. there’s a rushing in maggie’s ears and her stomach twists, 

she thinks she’s going to be sick and lurches forward. there’s footsteps across hardwood, footsteps become muted by fur rugs and then, then a hand is resting on her shoulder. the touch is feather-light until maggie lurches forward again, her stomach roiling. the duvet slips away onto the floor and it’s only now, exposed to the room air, that maggie realises how much she’s sweating “shit.” lucy curses softly, her hand curling against maggie’s shoulder “maggie,” she breathes, placing herself against maggie, to keep her upright, keep her steady “maggie are you in pain?” 

the question cuts through maggie’s growing haze and her eyes flutter open. lucy is wedged next to her, knelt down and immediately in maggie’s space. even a night ago such proximal contact from a lady of stature would have sent maggie deep into the safety of her own mind. the fact that maggie keens into lucy’s stability, less than a day after her arrival, speaks to many things. none of which maggie can grasp at in this moment. subtle sensations she noticed upon waking and wrote off as sleeping in a chair associated stiffness, only seem to become more pronounced as her stomach heaves for a third time. 

she manages what feels like a feeble nod in response to lucy’s question and can do little more than continue to see the sturdy fixture of her body to stop from slipping out of the chair entirely. 

“you’re burning up.” lucy murmurs, and this is the first time she becomes aware of just how thin maggie is. pressed against her like this, it’s all too clear for lucy that maggie has been deprived for far too long. she can feel the press of maggie’s ribs through their respective layers of clothing, and yet despite her thin stature, maggie is all muscle. that becomes all the more clear when maggie tenses against some internal pain, whether physical or mental is impossible for lucy to determine. soft whimpers escape through maggie’s gritted teeth and lucy has to take a breath to centre herself before asking her next question “can i get you to the bed?” she asks, “you’ll be more comfortable.” she adds. 

maggie, breathing in increasingly shorter and sharper pants, just nods and lets her head hang. lifting maggie is devastatingly easy, she seems to melt into lucy’s arms. perhaps it was the weight of the doe she and alex shot this morning, and then had to hoist over the back of alex’s stallion, but maggie seems to weigh next to nothing. laying her out on the bed takes no time at all, and in this position, maggie feels finally able to take a shaking breath. her ribs are aching, and she feels somewhere between vomiting and passing out. although she’s hoping for the latter if she’s being honest. 

next, to her, it’s impossible not to notice lucy. one hand curled loosely around maggie’s forearm, fingers dipped into the soft skin by her wrist, tracking the racing of her heart. maggie takes a second wavering breath and braces against the nausea, the pain, the everything that her body put off allowing her to feel while dying in the woods was still a very real possibility. she wants nothing more than to curl herself and slip away into the void of unconsciousness. like this, with her eyes closed, maggie finds her attention caught to the cool presence that is lucy’s hand. 

“maggie,” lucy says “some of your wounds are infected.” she says “and there’s only so much i can do…” lucy trails off. 

even in this state maggie knows where this is heading. she knows who lucy is going to bring up. 

the doctor. 

“alex,” lucy says “alex has steadier hands than mine.” she explains “she won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, but she,” again it seems that lucy struggles for words “she can help you.” she says “she helped me, after i first came back. i was like you, i didn’t, i didn’t want anyone near me.” the hand on lucy’s arm is trembling ever so slightly, maggie can barely feel the waver, but it’s present “alex though, i’ve known her since i was a kid. i’m never going to tell you what to do,” lucy says “but i trust alex with my life, and i’ll be here the whole time. i won’t let anything happen. okay?” 

maybe it’s the fact that lucy never once calls alex a doctor, just a friend, just someone with steady hands; or maybe it’s maggie’s desperation for the pain to end that she forces her eyes open. lucy’s concern is written across her face and maggie cannot deny that to be cared for, to have such concern be directed at her, it is a new and foreign feeling. she is not left feeling uncomfortable, rather there is something soothing in the fact that lucy still seems to care. maggie feels a settling in her nausea to a persistent background hum and she nods slowly “okay.” she says “she can come.” 

lucy’s surprise flickers quickly across her face for only a moment before she breaks into a soft smile “okay.” she says gently “i’m going to her.” she explains “i’ll be back.” 

maggie nods again, letting her eyes flutter shut once more. it’s not that she is falling back asleep, the prospect of a doctor – even a woman doctor such as alex, has renewed her twisting nerves. maggie is left feeling unsettled and anxious as lucy pulls the door shut behind her. granted, maggie concedes to herself, she is in pain and feels battered and bruised and wants to vomit. however, no doctor she can remember seeing in the recent past gave a damn about her pain. fighting the urge to roll onto her side, maggie’s hands curl into the sheet beneath her. it’s difficult to force long, deep breaths but maggie tries despite herself. she tries to focus on what must be the truth in lucy’s words. 

long seconds drag by. 

seconds bleed into minutes and when maggie finally starts to wonder – 

there’s a knock on the door. 

there’s a second knock and then the door is being pushed open. a moment of fear grips maggie until lucy is the one who steps into the room. she is shadowed by alex and, 

well, 

maggie has never seen a doctor dressed like her before. normally it’s formal suits that express their rank in society, the importance of their place and their job. alex, however, walks in after lucy wearing black trousers and a white shirt that is undoubtedly for men, if maggie’s judgement of the cut is anything to go by. the sleeves are rolled up above her elbows and there’s the ink of a tattoo spiralling around her left forearm that catches maggies attention. alex stops short of where lucy is standing, keeping the full length of herself within maggie’s view. 

there’s a moment of silence and then it is alex who speaks first. 

“hi.” she says, “i’m alex.” 

maggie’s heart is pounding in her chest, but she does her best to swallow her fear. she nods once “maggie.” she says, her voice somewhere just above a whisper, but the strain of speaking exacerbates the aching around her neck. 

“i’m here to help you.” alex says “to try and make you feel better, if i can.” she seems just as hesitant as maggie does, lingering half a body behind lucy; with one of lucy’s hands pressing against the flat of alex’s leg “i won’t do anything you don’t want me to.” she says “i’ll be as gentle as i can, i just think i can help you feel better.” 

maggie gets the oddest feeling that alex was presenting her case. she wonders if alex came into this room still half expecting to leave once again, like she did the night before. her gaze flickers to lucy, who is standing, watching “it’s up to you.” lucy encourages. 

a second more of debate and then, 

“okay.” 

the single word slips out, maggie’s entire being seems to vibrate with anxiety. maggie half expects alex to leap into action, as so many doctors have done before. she expects alex to start tugging clothing away, start touching her with harsh and unyielding fingers. except, 

no. 

that is not what happens. 

alex doesn’t move, she only nods once in return and asks “can you tell me what hurts the most right now?” 

maggie weighs up her options. there’s the pulsating in her throat from where tight hands gripped her; then there’s her ribs where what exactly happened is lost to a rush of panic-ridden memories. between the two maggie can list a litany of other discomforts, but none more overwhelming than the two taking up most of her attention. swallowing hard she nods and carefully chooses her words before braving speech “my side.” she settles for “i-“ she starts, stops “i don’t remember what happened.” she looks down “i’m sorry.” 

in the corner of her eye it looks as if lucy is moving to say something, but it’s alex who speaks first. her tone is gentle, soft, there is no scolding present “you don’t have to apologise.” alex says “not for anything, and certainly not for what happened.” even now she does not step any closer to maggie, she leaves lucy as a barrier between them “can you describe the pain for me?” she asks. 

maggie debates “it’s there all the time.” she says “but gets worse when i breathe in. i, i took a look at the spot yesterday, where it hurts the most and it’s bruised. i’m not, i don’t, beyond that.” she trails off. 

“maggie,” 

it’s the first time alex has said her name, and the way it rolls of the tongue is neither a command, nor a demand. she simples speaks maggie’s name into the space between them and waits for maggie to do with that what she will. what she gets in response is a nervous half glance in her direction. maggie can’t quite meet her gaze, tense as she is. for alex however, it’s enough. she continues speaking with the same positive neutral tone, demanding nothing of maggie “you’re doing a great job for me.” she encourages “i know these can be hard questions.” she continues “it would help me if i could have a feel of where it hurts the most.” she says. 

maggie swallows hard, suddenly unsure. 

“if you want.” she nods. 

alex isn’t convinced “i won’t need to lift your shirt.” she says “and i won’t touch anywhere else. nothing will happen that isn’t on your terms.” 

maggie bites her lip until tears sting in her eyes. 

“you can say no.” alex says softly “you’re allowed that. i won’t get mad. i won’t be upset.”

words are overwhelmingly unavailable for maggie and she lets out a huff of frustration and fear. she closes her eyes and tips her head back, but this angle irritates at her neck and there’s an uncomfortable spasm before she breaks into uncontrollable coughing. the force of the fit has her bending over herself in bed, her already delicate throat grating against itself as she gasps for a steadying breath. in this moment it seems that lucy is unable to fight her instinct, she takes a step towards the bed and brings her hand to maggie’s shoulder. 

the touch is familiar, gentle and yielding. her hand is there to do little more than steady maggie and give her something solid to lean against. lucy wishes she could do more, wishes she could pull maggie into her arms and calm her seemingly ever-present fear. right now though, what maggie needs is exactly what lucy is doing for her now. 

still rooted in place, alex watches the events unfold and it gives her an idea. 

an idea that she holds on to until a small mug of water has been passed to maggie and two long sips are taken. alex watches the way maggie leans into lucy’s touch as she drinks, and it’s impossible for alex to not be more than a little relieved. while maggie may still remain terrified of her, at least lucy is connecting. is that connection, any positive connection, that maggie needs right now more than anything else. and if lucy is that, 

then, 

“maggie,” alex says “would you be more comfortable with lucy feeling your ribs?” 

lucy looks over at alex sharply, hesitant at the idea being brought forth. maggie considers, lucy is already touching her. lucy is safe and gentle and maggie nods once “yes.” she says “sorry.” she looks down, looks away. 

“you don’t need to be.” alex says “lucy needs to get better at assessing patients. i get in far too many fights for her to not be up to scratch.” 

“ignore her boasting.” lucy murmurs, her hand unmoving from maggie’s shoulder. 

“too many fights?” maggie asks, hazarding the question before her bravery slips. 

alex laughs lightly “ there are certain people who disapprove of my chosen profession.” she states simply “and they do their best to demonstrate how dangerous such a job can be for,” she pauses “someone like me.” 

“she builds herself up,” lucy explains “but the dagger she carries is no joke.” 

“nor are the ones they arm themselves with.” alex says lightly, letting her gaze drift back to maggie “i don’t always win, but i’ve never been very good at doing what men expect of me. you’ll understand now why lucy needs her practice.” alex continues “my mother would likely faint it i showed up at home covered in blood.” 

maggie wonders what her mother would do if she turned up on their doorstep.

before she can get caught in such a rabbit warren of thoughts and memories, lucy speaks gently “maggie,” she asks “do you want me to feel your ribs?” 

there’s a beat of consideration and then she nods. she knows that exposing her chest would be of most use, but at the same time, the thought of exposing herself, the thought of them seeing what she’s been through leave her gripping into the bed tighter than before. 

“can you breathe for me?” lucy asks, breaking through maggie’s thoughts. 

maggie exhales. 

“that’s it.” lucy encourages “can you point to me where it hurts?” 

with two fingers, maggie does just that. she wants to be brave. she wants to be brave and show them that she’s not afraid. maggie wishes that she could explain how it is not these two in themselves that scare her. in this space, she is not scared of being hit or being dragged across a room by her hair. or rather, it’s that while part of maggie is aware that for the first time in years, she is safe, a deeper and older part of herself is still clueless. she is running on old memories, fuelled by old scars. she is not afraid of them, more afraid of everything in her past that has brought her to this moment. houses such as these have held their own share of terror for maggie. the complicated mix of emotions leaves maggie a little more breathless. she wants to explain but speaking her mind in such a way was long ago beaten out of her. so instead maggie forces out a small breath and focuses on the chair she slept in. 

“i’m going to put my hand there now.” lucy warns, a beat before she does just that. 

her hands are cool and the pressure she exerts is feather light. 

“maggie,” alex says, catching her attention “lucy will need to press, she’s going to be feeling for anything that feels wrong or out of place.” 

maggie bites her tongue and closes her eyes, she nods once and waits. 

lucy seems reluctant to do anything that will cause maggie harm, to the point that seconds pass before she applies any more pressure at all. when she does, lucy works her way up in increments, her gaze fixed on maggie’s face. she can see every flicker of pain as it comes, and lucy hates that she has to do this. the only saving grace is that she can feel something, 

off. 

perhaps it’s because maggie is little more than skin and bone right now, but there’s an unfamiliar yield in the curve of one rib when maggie breaths in.

_broken_ , lucy muses first to herself, remembering a distant time – lois standing in the school, sand coating her riding shirt and pants. tears swimming in her eyes as her pony, sampson continues off down towards a corner. two broken ribs from a spooked horse, lucy remembers the details, remembers how lois spent all night in the stable with sampson, reassuring both him and herself that they would be okay. 

“done.” lucy says, removing her hand. 

maggie has gone pale like she’s going to be sick. 

maggie desperately does not want to be sick, but the pain has made the room spin before her eyes. she is left taking shallow breaths as lucy steps away and fighting the roiling in her stomach. her eyes are screwed up and maggie forces short exhalations. she brings her knees up towards her chest, but even that motion brings pain. a memory has tugged itself loose from the tangle and maggie remembers being on the floor, she remembers a viscous booted heel. she remembers the explosion pain that was shallow in comparison to what followed. 

her stomach yields its contents at long last. 

maggie finds herself helpless to stop or redirect her sick, and lucy’s sharp

_"shit.”_ triggers some deeper horror from maggie’s psyche. 

the memory overwhelms maggie to the point where her current reality has slipped away from her. no more is the touch upon her shoulder welcome, it has transformed into something terrible and violent. there are dogs barking just beyond the door and shadows are dancing from a roaring fire, serving to cast the room into pockets of shadows and light. it is into one of these shadows maggie scrambles for as if that can hide her. 

away from the trap of her memories, in the room with lucy and alex, it’s very clear that maggie is no longer aware of herself. lucy is caught, horrified at her own tone. she wasn’t upset with maggie, just caught in the path of her unexpected upending of her stomach, and with her current riding clothes now both mud-spattered and sick spattered, lucy realises she is going to want to change. those are thoughts of future lucy however, as in this present she feels alex’s hand curling around her wrist and lucy is pulled backwards, out of the way. what happens next is not violent, it’s more unnerving, maggie, lost in a haze, is scrambling out of bed. she’s moving and barely breathing and she’s 

running. 

lucy acts on instinct before more rational thought can stop her from reaching out and grabbing maggie. her fingers curl around a delicate wrist and she’s saying “maggie, wait,” far sharper than she intends before she can piece together how likely it is that this could be a bad idea. 

caught, maggie tenses. her whole being stiffens and she ducks her head, cowering away from lucy “i’m sorry.” she mumbles “i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. i didn’t mean to. i didn’t mean to.” her fear is palpable in her words and her trembling form. 

“lucy,” alex murmurs “lucy, let her go,” she says. 

lucy drops her grip on maggie’s hand, stepping back quickly. 

the space is a relief, but maggie’s entire being is on edge. her mind is torn between a violent past and a blurred present. her toes are curled against the floor and her calf muscle twitches from the strain of standing so still. maggie’s ribs still ache and her hands are pressed against her sides, fingers spread. instincts kicking in to show that she’s not a threat, that she’s not fighting. 

“i’m sorry.” maggie repeats, her voice trembling “i didn’t mean to.” 

“i know.” comes lucy’s voice from some distance away “i know you didn’t.” she says “you’re not in trouble.”

maggie swallows hard and shakes her head. her fingers curl into fists and she presses short, cropped nails into her palms – as if she needs more pain. 

“maggie,” lucy asks “where are you?” 

maggie swallows hard and tries to pin down an answer “inside.” she says “in your home.” is all she can come up with and hope that it’s the right answer. 

“and do you know who’s with you?” 

again, maggie casts her mind “you.” she says “and alex.”

lucy’s own voice is wavering, so afraid of messing this up, of hurting maggie further. 

“lucy,” alex murmurs “go and change. “

lucy wants to protest, she wants to insist upon staying. except now she can’t help but wonder if maybe giving maggie some space from her will provide some reprieve. so with a nod, lucy ventures towards the door, unable to stop herself from casting a glance back at maggie. she looks wild and scared. her rounded shoulders and ducked head scream submission and lucy leaves the room cursing herself.

inside the room maggie clocks lucy’s departure. it’s not welcome, but the memories of the brand burning into her skin are fading and for that she is glad. her breathing still feels ragged and her twist of emotions have only just overshadowed her pain. aware too, is she that alex is still watching. even from a distance, she feels alex watching her. the gaze does not feel predatory or intimidating – she senses no danger in alex’s gaze. less still does she feel nervous about her presence. touch, yes. but the fact that alex is standing, is patient, doesn’t seem phased by the fact that maggie was sick all over the bed. 

it helps. 

maggie does not expect what alex says next. 

“i’ve always liked the painting on the wall by the window.” she says “i’m not sure why. it’s just a bunch of pears. weird fruit. but every time i see that painting in here, i like this room a little bit more. not that i don’t like all the military paintings, the general is a fan of his historical artwork. but i just imagine like, paintings of bodies and medicines and stuff hung all over my house and i wouldn’t be able to handle that. i like some downtime away from work.” 

she’s just, 

talking. 

she’s talking like she’s talking to anyone. 

“my mom tried to get me into sewing. hated it until i figured out i wanted to be a doctor. then it’s all i would do. not that she would appreciate it of course, apparently medical stitching patterns are not appropriate designs for tablecloths. i would ask her why not, and she had no answer to that of course, because really who cares what patterns are on the tablecloths. kara always got a kick out of that, she had only just moved in with us and she thought it was the funniest thing. so now she gets me tablecloths. weird ones though, that my mother hates. which, makes me like them all the more if i’m being honest.” there’s a pause from alex, and then she asks “is this helping?” 

maggie nods “don’t stop.” she asks, unsure why alex’s discussion about her sewing of tablecloth patterns was so soothing, but it was and maggie couldn’t let go of that fact. she wavered on her feet for a moment and then “i need to sit down.” she says. 

“there’s a trunk at the foot of the bed.” alex says “you could sit on that if you need to sit down right now.” 

maggie nods, taking a few steps back and then collapsing down. 

alex loiters at a distance but continues on “so that’s how i have an entire shelf of tablecloths that i didn’t know what to do with. my mother would sooner die than let me put any of them on the table and they seemed like such a waste to just be left sitting there. so i asked kara if she would be offended if used them as bandages.” 

maggie tries to imagine table clothes as bandages and falls short, it’s an odd picture. 

“she didn’t mind.” alex explains “helped me tear them into bandages.” 

maggie takes a shallow breath and glances over at alex. she’s standing, relaxed with her hands shoved into her pockets. she’s watching maggie carefully. 

“gonna be sick?” she asks. 

maggie shakes her head “thank you.” she says quietly. 

“it’s nothing.” 

maggie shakes her head again “it’s not. it’s, no one has done that for me before.” she swallows hard, no one has tried if she’s being honest. at the same time though, alex seemed so sure that just speaking to maggie would work, that just talking and going on about nothing would calm her down that – 

the question sits on the tip of maggies tongue but she dares not give it a voice. 

alex seems to sense this and takes a breath before speaking again “my sister gets flashbacks.” she explains “stuff from when she was younger, before she moved in with us, it still haunts her. when she first arrived i wanted to help, but all i could think to do was what lucy did. reach out and touch. but for her that would deepen whatever memory she was in, it would make things worse. so i tried a lot of different things, found out that just talking worked. didn’t really matter what i was talking about, but the words would pull her out of the memory.” 

“it works.” maggie murmurs. 

“i’m glad.” alex responds. 

maggie swallows hard, then looks over at alex “what do you think happened to my ribs?” 

alex considers for a moment and then “i think they’re broken.” she says “and that’s why they hurt so much. unfortunately, there’s not much i can do for broken ribs, besides make sure they don’t get worse.” 

“and,” maggie starts, looking down, away. 

“you can ask.” alex encourages “anything you want.” 

“my neck.” she says “it- it looks bad.” maggie’s not sure if she’s asking anything in that, or just stating what must be true. 

“yeah,” alex says “it does,” she pauses “makes me want to find the person who did that to you and show them a world of hurt.” 

“why?” maggie chokes, caught by the honest anger in alex’s voice directed at someone she doesn’t know. 

“because no one deserves to have that done to them.” alex says simply. 

maggie blinks quickly and then says “i have some cuts,” she says “on my arms. if you, i don’t know, if you want to look at them.” 

“sure,” alex nods “if you’re comfortable with that.”

maggie nods “i, i think they may be infected already. but you’ll know better than me.” 

alex takes measured steps towards maggie perched on the edge of the trunk “i’m going to kneel down she says, and i can help you roll up the sleeve if you want, or you can do.” 

maggie’s not sure she has the energy and instead slowly repositions her arm for alex to have a better angle “you can,” she says simply. 

alex’s first touch is hesitant, her fingertips brushing the hem of lucy’s sleeve “say the word if you want me to stop.” she breathes, pausing for a moment before starting to roll the sleeve up one-fold at a time. 

maggie watches alex work, watches the way she folds the sleeve carefully until it sits neatly above maggie’s elbow “there.” alex says, then “were these the ones you meant?” alex asks, finger running feather-light along the base of one deep scratch maggie remembers getting for a thorn bush. 

“yes.” 

alex nods “i’d like to clean them.” she says “i have some tweezers that will get some of the dirt out. and then some bandages to protect it.” 

“tablecloths.” maggie notes, remembering alex’s earlier words. 

alex laughs, looking up at maggie with a smile “yeah, table clothes. i think these have some wild bird pattern on them. possibly turkeys but also maybe peacocks. kara and i are in slight disagreement.” 

maggie smiles, 

for the first time in months, 

she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all, i'm having so much fun with this series. it's a great exercise in trying to focus on character detail instead of world-building details. for those of you who have commented and kudo'd on the last few in this series, thank you so much! it means the world to me, and i'll be replying to those comments shortly. 
> 
> if you're interested in seeing some of the moodboards i've made for this series [one for each part of the series and then one for each of our ladies], then feel free to come over to my tumblr @ 4beit. 
> 
> thank you as ever.


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